Second Face III

It's so hard to breathe down here. I miss the trees. I miss that feeling, running in the tall grass and leaping for branches just out of sight. I miss the air, cool and crisp on my arms, and that moist coating of dew perpetually covering my jacket. Sometimes I fell down, and I could feel metal on my taste buds. Red and bitter, but it was a nice taste. Tastes like a job well done.

The window was open. They were supposed to be locked, to keep the children from getting hurt, but after a thorough examination, he was easily able to jimmy them open. The night air helped calm him, but it still wasn't the same as being in the air.

I miss the way they always looked at me. Those terror filled eyes, and their attempts to cry out. They never did, though. I miss the way they always tried to run from me. Scrambling up against the wall, or trapped in the corners. Sometimes they fought back, and tried to hurt me, but that just made it more fun. It was always fun. Not anymore. No one's afraid. Sometimes they look afraid, but it's not the same. They don't have that fear. They don't know the dread, when they're confused and don't know what's going on, but know that somethings wrong, even when they can't see us. Ever since....

He slowly rose both hands before himself. Long fingers, well-calloused from years of abuse. He didn't need any tools, or weapons, all he needed was his ever faithful hands. They never failed to do their job, and never disappeared when he put them down. His head turned sharply back out the window.

But I miss you, most of all. Why did you leave? Why did it all go wrong? I loved you. You gave me my face. You taught me so much. You taught me how to move so fast, and make myself invisible, just like you. You taught me how to speak without my tongue, but I was never as good as you. You were always faster, stronger, quicker. I miss the way you used to pick me up, and hold me close, while we were traveling. I never understood how you felt so cold to the others. I was always warm, and never got sick. But then you went away, and I did get sick. And I fear I don't remember what you taught me. I can still speak, but I will not speak to them. They don't understand you like I do.

RIP

Without being conscious of it, he had drawn another picture, and torn it from his thinning notebook. Searching between the covers of his bed, he pulled a hidden roll of tape, and proceeded to add a new member to his art gallery. He wasn't all that aware of his movements these days. It was like running on autopilot, and losing the remote. Sitting back down on the firm bed, his gaze drifted upward, toward the speckled, midnight sky. Like tiny, white breadcrumbs carelessly swept across the velvety black.

Another one came today, but you already know that, don't you? At first he felt like the others. Just as unafraid, just as watchful, just as prying and unknowing. But then, there was something else. Something that felt familiar, but it was faint, very faint. Did you know him? There was something there, inside him, and it felt like you. It felt like the others did, when you visited them. Did you visit him before? Did you play with him like you played with the others? Funny he should show up after so many years.

* * * * *

I miss you. I wonder what you're doing right now. I hope you're thinking about me. I hope you miss me. I saw an animal in the trees today. It was dead, with flies all over it and buzzing all around. The children found it first. They were scared and ran away. I didn't though, I wasn't scared. Then they got angry. They yelled at me, called me things, and threw stuff at me. They were scared of me, I could tell. It made me happy, it reminded me of before. I still don't like it here, I'd rather be with you. But I bet you would like it here. There's a lot of little things, easy to scare. They'll believe anything.

RIP. Another page was added to the collection. It had been a very busy day for the young man, sitting alone in his room.

That man came back today. I could smell your scent on him. You visited him. He didn't know, though. You're always so sneaky. I bet you visited me, didn't you? I'm sorry, I fell asleep. I know you don't like it when I sleep. The doctors gave me medicine to make me sleepy. I found it this morning, and threw it away. I don't need it, I just need you. I don't need to sleep. I don't need to eat, either. They always force me to eat, but I don't need it. I never had to eat with you. I don't need it! I DON'T NEED THEM, I NEED YOU.

Silence. He was waiting. Waiting for the squeak of floorboards that would never come, the shadows that would never spread across the walls, the unspoken motives, never questioned. A hand began to reach upward, searching out for his face, but he stopped himself before he touched it. He knew what he would find there.

I miss you. I think that man is looking for you, but he doesn't know it. He's looking for something. He's looking for you, but he doesn't know it's you. He's not like the others. He's stronger. He's curious, he's not going to be deterred by a few of the same old tricks. I know you need my help. Wouldn't it be nice, to have just one more night together? Just one small adventure? Even if it was the last one? I think so.

* * * * *

There's a storm coming. I remember our first storm together. I was frightened. I never liked storms. I didn't like you, either, but when I saw you, you were unafraid. The loud noises and flashing light, it didn't bother you. That was the first time I wanted to be like you. I wanted to be unafraid, just like you.

Thunder rolled across the sky, echoing from a not-so-far-away place. For a few, brief seconds, the tiny room was lit bright as day. Angular, pointed shadows were etched across the walls, suggesting unseen movement. Looking out the window, he could see a dark, blurry, wall of misty rain steadily working it's way across the forested hills and toward the town.

Do you remember when we were caught in the rain that one time? You don't like the rain. You tolerated it, but you never liked it. I don't like storms, though I did like the rain. It was very warm that night. The rain was refreshing. I liked running it. I tried to get you to come out, but you didn't like it. You're probably not going to come out tonight.

Another crack of thunder, louder than the previous ones. He could hear a child crying somewhere close by. He paused, listening, until a light came on in the hallway. A nurse was coming to comfort him. Sure enough, the crying died down. Weary that one of them might decide to check up on him, he quietly shuffled into bed, eyes turned toward the wall. It wasn't till the yellow glow below his door dimmed again that he felt it safe to sit up. The rain was starting. A calming, pitter-patter against the window.

Maybe just a little...

He slid the window open an inch or so, relishing in the spray of moisture from outside.

But I always regretted it the next day, when my shoes were so wet and heavy, I had to go barefoot in order to keep up to my normal speed. It wasn't so bad, the mud and grass was soft, and cushioned my feet.

He was silent for a few minutes. Peacefully staring out the window, as the world was drowned in gray and blue. The rain was beginning to quicken, and come down harder. The lightning and thunder came every few seconds now, right on top of one another.

It's the third day that man's come to visit. He seemed anxious. But it was not the normal nervousness. Usually, they're anxious because they don't know what's going on, and are frightened of what you might be, and what you've done, but this was a different sort of nervousness. He's getting closer. He's anxious to know. He wants answers. He told me he'd been doing research, and found nothing but a few scrambled reports of missing children. He's the seventh one, and they get closer every time. And yet, you hesitate. You're staying away form him, now. You're avoiding him. Why? Why is it you do not follow? Why don't you play with him, like we always did with the others?

No response, no answer came forth from the darkness, save for the rain falling down on wooden branches and green leaf puddles.

I was right, wasn't I? It's something, different, isn't it? He's gotten more insistent with his questions. He whispers, and tries not to let the nurses or his friend know what he's up to. He leans in close to my ear, and asks me what it's all about. But I never told him. He asks why I do not speak. He asks if I was hurt by somebody, or something, and that's why I am so scarred. He asks where I come from, and why I came here. And then he asked something that surprised me.

He asks if I ever knew the tall man in the woods. He told me a story, you see. When he was little, he used to live by a forest, and loved playing outside. One day, his parents took him to a park where he played with other children. They were playing with a ball, when he accidentally threw it into the trees. The other children got mad at him, and told him to go find it. So he does. After that, he doesn't remember much, only flashes of brief memory. And you know what he said? He said he remembers seeing you. He said he saw a tall, dark figure in the trees. Only a glimpse, before he ran back to the park. He remembers that he got lost, and couldn't find the way back. It started to sprinkle, and he crawled into a pile of dead leaves under a tree and began to cry. He can't see you, but he can feel you watching him, and coming closer. He said he was too terrified too move. He doesn't remember anything after that. He can only remember waking up in the park, surrounded by the other children. They can't remember anything, either. But they're afraid, and can't remember why. They were more afraid than they ever had been before, and didn't know why. For exactly three days, they had been missing, though it didn't feel longer than a few minutes. That was when I knew you had got to him before. I let the realization get the better of me, and he saw that I knew something.

Quite suddenly, he brought his hands upward and touched his face with both hands. He could feel the warm flesh beneath his fingertips and it made of him angry. He tried fooling himself many times. He convinced his mind that he felt not skin, but the smooth, plastic, contours.

You used those children, like you used me. But it was different. You didn't really want them, like you wanted me. They didn't love you like I do, so you cast them away when you didn't need them anymore. You tried to cast me away, but I remember. I've loved you too much to just forget. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I fear I may have lead him to you. I can't stay here any longer. Now he knows, and he'll be back to question me further. If I stay here, he will find out more. I can't let that happen, I have to protect you. I can't stay here. I don't care what you've said or what you've done or what you've meant, I have to find you.

Heart thumping like a jack-rabbit's, he threw the window wide open, letting the now pouring rain spray across his chest. A current of wind spiraled through the room, sending his drawings whirling through the air. He could barely hear himself over the roaring thunder and wind in his ears. Lightning struck somewhere close, crackling and sputtering.

I can't stay here any longer. I'm sorry!

He put his hands on the damp window sill, knuckles white as marble.

I'm coming for you. I don't care where you are, or where you might be. I don't care that my skills may have dulled, and I might not be of any use to you.

He pulled his feet up, next to his hands. His white clothing seemed to glow in the dark, like a beacon in the storm. He could feel the adrenaline coarse through his limbs, as he mustered his courage. His muscles tightened and gathered dormant strength. He'd been waiting so long for this.

I'm coming for you. I will find you! I don't care how long it takes or where I'll go, BUT I WILL FIND YOU. I don't care, I don't care, I DON'T CARE!

He leaped outward, limbs outstretched and hands open to grab the slippery branches. The lightning flashed, casting a pair or dark circles where his eyes should be. And then, he disappeared. No one saw him leave. No one saw him running wildly through the trees, branches whipping at his face and cutting his arms. No one would find the muddy footprints that seemed to appear from no where, and dissolve into nothing. No one would see him being absorbed into dark. And most of all, no one would notice the shadows that followed him across that night.

Will you still recognize me, even without my second face?